Poetry & Blindfolds

In 1997, when I decided it was time that my cat Johann Sebastian could use a buddy, I went to the nearest pet shop that had a pun as a title, in this case, Paws 4 Thought.  There was a new litter of Russian Blue kittens up for adoption, so, being unable to decide among them, I decided to use the New Age philosophy of letting the cat decide to adopt me.  One kitten found me quite interesting, and an hour later, Johann and I had a new roommate.

I couldn’t figure out what to name him for a long time.  The cats I had in adulthood all had musical names; before Johann Sebastian, there was Wolfgang Amadeus (or “Foofus” as it eventually devolved into), who went on to live on a farm and terrorize rodents.  But what to call this little gray, pointy-tailed, wide-eyed little kitten?  Ludwig?  Andy Gibb?  Somehow, I stumbled on Anonymous.  Anonymous had written some great songs, as well as a book or two, not to mention he was a great contributor to the arts.  It stuck.

Anonymous was feisty from Day One, wanting to play with and then fight Johann.  Johann would tolerate his antics for a while, and then, almost as an afterthought, kick his ass.  Eventually, the two became good friends, with Anonymous being Johann’s muscle, especially when I moved in with my girlfriend Tina and her two cats, Hunter and Zoe.  And in Johann’s declining years, Anonymous stepped up and took care of his elder feline with a lot of care.  Oftentimes, I would return home and find Anonymous spooning Johann.  They had a great bond.

When Johann died, not long after my relationship with Tina also died, Anonymous and I were on our own for a while.  He still maintained his role as second-in-command, waiting after food was poured to let Johann decide which bowl to eat from, sleeping slightly towards the foot of the bed.  Eventually, he seemed to accept that he was The Cat.  He was marvelously behaved and very social.  When he was being a bit evil, all I had to do was say ‘you know!’ and he would make a whispery ‘eh-eh-eh’ sound, like cats do when they look at birds or squirrels.  And his name inspired a series of nicknames: Not-a-mouse, Not-a-bus, Not-a-buscuit, etc., all of which he responded to.

When Jennifer and I got together, Anonymous found himself faced with two MORE cats in the figure of Nicky and Holly.  Nicky and Holly are as close as Johann and Anonymous were, only I always felt a little bad that Anonymous was sort of left on his own.  He sparred with Nicky and was the dominant cat for a while, then Nicky was, then Anonymous was.

About a year ago, Anonymous got a little sick and then a little sicker.  Perhaps it was because he was on his own a bit, or perhaps his breed was prone to more ailments, but 2009 saw his health slowly and gradually decline along with his weight, until December, when he just chose to lay around.  He even found a place in the closet to be far away from everyone.  His face changed, and there was part of him I didn’t recognize anymore. I knew what was up with that, and so did Jennifer, though she always tried to maintain a brave, positive face on the situation.

This morning, January 16, 2010, I had to let my second cat go.  And, like that Saturday morning a few years ago on which I had to let Johann go, I feel sad and relieved.  Tears come almost at random.  I’m trying to focus on certain memories, hoping they will stay put and not vanish over time.  It’s a silly exercise, as Anonymous and Johann, more than any photo album, represent a huge portion of my life.  The memories will fade, but they remain a part of me.

Thank you, boys.  Thank you for being wonderful.  It’s been my privilege to know you.